


My Name's Written On The Tag

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Clothed Sex, F/M, Fingerfucking, M/M, Married Couple, Miscommunication, Polyamory, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a simple reason why Gavin wears exclusively skinny jeans and size small shirts. It’s because Lindsay and Michael are practically wardrobe interchangeable in size medium, and that’s fine because they’re together forever. Gavin doesn’t have that luxury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Name's Written On The Tag

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by one of the podcasts, in which Michael was complaining that everything Gavin wears is ridiculously tight and he shouldn't be wearing a size small.
> 
> This fic is canon adjacent. It's mostly set in RL but there are some places where I've knowingly deviated, like the Jones wedding party, and the apartment and Gavin not dating Meg.

Gavin twists the tap until the torrent reduces to a slow drip. It’s the kind of noise that would drive his ASMR mental over time, if it didn’t stop once the faucet cleared. Getting out of the shower provokes his customary gag but once it’s over he can wrap a towel around his hips and grab another for his hair and chest and beard. The Joneses have really nice fluffy towels. At home they’re threadbare, especially the ones in Geoff and Griffon’s main house. Those are so old and worn it’s like Geoff used them while he was still in the army and brought them home. But these ones are brand bloody new, one of the hundred wedding gifts they got. Gavin would almost consider getting married for towels so ridiculously plush.

His calm morning ends there though. When he gets back to the bedroom Michael is wearing his shirt. It’s skintight on him, the sleeves straining on the biceps he’s starting to grow.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not rank. I won’t smell like your sweat and Geoff’s farts all day.”

Michael’s bloody scent is not exactly the concern. “But-”

Lindsay, clad in a bra and underwear helpfully adds, “just get something from the closet.” _The_ because they only have one, they share too much to bother with his and hers.

“I can’t. That’s my shirt.”

“Yeah. I can tell. It’s fucking tight as hell. But what can I say, I was feeling the beer love.” Michael turns the arm flex that proved tightness of fit into a shrug. It’s probably supposed to be endearing. Cute even. Gavin wants to slap him silly.

“Then buy one at Spencers!” Gavin shouts.

“Why, does this one have your cooties? Because I got over that about the same time that I got your fingers in my ass.”

Gavin refuses to be distracted with sex talk. “I need to wear my shirt.”

Lindsay, still casually adjusting the bit of the bra under the cup to fit flat against her ribs, starts to repeat herself. “I told you, pick-”

“I can’t wear your shirt. Your jointy Jonesy shirt. It’s like you don’t even know what it’ll say!”

“What does it say?”

Jesus H Christ, and the internet thinks _he’s_ the dumb one. “That we’re equal, you great tit!”

“The hell are you-”

“Gavin I don’t-”

The Joneses are talking over each other and Gavin just doesn’t want to hear any of it. At all. “Bollocks this.” 

In a fair universe Gavin would storm off, go home, and ask Geoff for a day off. Just curl up with a beer and his xBox and wait for everyone to stop being terrible and weird. Surely Ray’d fix Michael, they’ve been best friends for ages. Ray knows how to put Michael back on track. And Team Same Desk; Ryan could fix Lindsay. They’re bros. But since the world is a cruel mistress and Gavin can’t fucking drive, he goes to Barb’s.

“You’re in a towel,” she accuses a moment after she opens the door. Gavin’s not sure if he’s woken her up or not. It’s hard to tell. Barbara’s hair is still pulled back in the messy ponytail she sleeps in, but her eyes are wide open and he hasn’t heard a yawn.

Gavin looks down at himself. Pointless, it’s not like he didn’t know what he made his escape in. Pointless, with the added bonus of cringeworthy. His feet should not be bare on a filthy hallway carpet like this. He’s going to step on a fuckin’ needle or catch herpes or something. Even when they’re just darting to the pool everyone wears thongs. “Er. Yeah.”

Barbara sashays out of the way, letting him come in. Her apartment is actually more drafty than the hallway, thanks to the blasting air conditioning. On the other hand, if his towel does fly away here it’ll only be a slight embarrassment. Maybe an RTAA in the future, if the story gets out like the Kara and Geoff’s dick one did. Nothing like potentially flashing a granny or a kid, anyone that happens to be in the hallway at the time of deployment.

“Did you get pranked? Locked out? Want me to text Linds?”

“No!” Gavin’s maybe a bit more shouty than he needs to be, but that would be the bloody worst, wouldn’t it.

“Uh, okay?” Barbara shakes it off with the skill of a person who’s paid to schedule and interact with idiots. “Do you want a robe?”

“I’m not taking the clothes off your back, literally.”

Barbara laughs. “I have more than one robe, you sad sad bachelor. Do you eat food off frisbees too?”

 

“Since when am I Caleb? I’d have to own a frisbee.”

“Do you want a morning coffee?” She has a mug in her hand, steam still transparently visible wafting off the top. Gavin has no idea where she got it. Maybe he blinked at the wrong moment, gave her time to teleport to the kitchen and back.

“Makes me shit.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been on the Podcast enough. Still, it’s morning, and for all I know you like being regular.”

“Thanks, but I just need a moment to bloody think.” It’s only a few steps to her living room. Barbara’s apartment has the exact same layout as the Joneses, it’s only furniture placement that’s different. Furniture that Gavin’s in dire need of. He slumps onto the couch, mindful of keeping his knees together so the towel doesn’t pull open. Just because she has seen his peen before doesn’t mean she wants to again. A moment after he’s down he gets whipped in the face with a ball of fabric. 

“Put on the robe before you get cold.”

Gavin does, because half the time it’s just easier to follow other people’s requests than fight about it. Besides, what is there to regret? The silk is soft against his skin, and it smells good. Barbara probably uses floral scented dryer sheets.

“Sorry if I interrupted morning munking.”

“You’re an idiot.”

After that lighthearted comment they proceed to basically ignore each other. Gavin fiddles with the hem of the silky fabric and tries to figure out what his next step is. Barbara putters around, doing her morning routine like a dumbass Brit didn’t crash her apartment. No interaction is needed on either side. 

They both freeze when a barrage of loud knocks strike the other side of the door. Gavin’s guts clench up immediately. He knows exactly what’s about to happen. It’s like a scene from his worst nightmares.

“Don’t get that,” Gavin warns.

“But it might be more undressed friends!” Barbara replies, and ignores him utterly.

Michael and Lindsay are fully dressed and they don’t hesitate a second before coming into the living room. At least Michael’s not wearing his goddamn shirt anymore.

“Once Geoff said you hadn’t begged for a pick-up we knew you’d be here,” Lindsay states. She’s probably happy to be proven right. Gavin’s not looking at her expression to know. He’s not looking at the Joneses at all. His knees are just very interesting, okay? Why look up when he could examine them in thorough detail?

Michael adds, “we’ve been talking and we still don’t know what the fuck your problem is.”

Barbara claps. It’s startling enough to get Gavin’s attention. Thankfully he still doesn’t need to make eye contact, Michael and Lindsay are both also turned towards Barb. “Okaaaaay. So I am going to be a good friend and give you privacy, because clearly some kind of shit is going down. I’ll just go hide in my room. Tell me when you’re done.”

Gavin waits for her to be out of earshot before he confirms, “you called Geoff?”

“You ran out one untucked corner away from buckass nude. It’s not like you were gonna take a taxi home.”

“Seriously though, the fuck is up? Do you really give that much of a shit about a t-shirt? Because that was way the fuck overblown, man.”

Gavin doesn’t enjoy talking about his feelings. He’s a human male, and even people like Gus and Jack think he’s insensitive. Unfortunately he’s got nowhere else to run. “Christ _sakes_. Look, I get that I’m like your marital spice or whatever. That’s fine. It gets me almost all of what I want and none of what I don’t. But with that comes certain constraints. Fast food breakfast. Fingercomb my hair. Wear repeat clothes. Sleep on the couch if possible. There are certain intimacies that are kept for the real couple who love each other. Bloody sharing clothes is one of those, isn’t it.”

Whatever Gavin’s expecting it’s not for Lindsay to hit him. But she does, she bends right over the high back of the couch to brutalize his shoulder. “Gavin, you motherfucker. How the hell do you dare say you don’t love us?”

Did she not hear him say ‘real couple’? “It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that you love each other. You’re married.”

Michael tosses himself down on the other cushion. Weird how Gavin didn’t feel anywhere naked before with Barb, between the towel and the robe, and now all he can think is that Michael’s knee is almost touching his. And then he bloody nudges Gavin with it, and it takes all his stones to not fucking bolt, nowhere to go or not. 

“Yeah, and you were the best man. We thought you knew what that meant.”

 

“Intimacy? Uh, have you considered that Lindsay’s sister was the maid of honour? ’S’not like she’s all incesty.”

“Best man and maid of honour means so close you might as well be in the marriage. Sexual or not.”

“But I’m _not_.”

“Right, and so you’re not worthy to eat cereal with us or use Lindsay’s comb.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“I just know my bloody place. And that includes not switching outfits with the married couple.”

“I’m calling bullshit, though,” Lindsay declares. “While I can totally see you being that emotionally stunted, you have worn stuff of ours in the past. Like Helen’s birthday party. You came home with us, and you wore that Mogar fangift shirt of Michael’s to work the next day.”

“Look. For one, I’d drunk and acted stupid enough in front of a crowd that it could be assumed I spilled, puked or otherwise wrecked my shirt and needed to borrow, so everyone that saw me at work knew it didn’t mean anything. For another, that was me being a pathetic mong, okay? Not the first time, not the mingin’ last.”

Lindsay hits him again. Gavin whines _What?_ , which is generally rhetorical, because Achievement Hunter doesn’t tend to justify their friendly abuse. But Lindsay is Lindsay, so she explains herself. “I just realised it’s probably why you wear a size too small. You don’t want to confuse ours with yours.”

“Why is that hit-worthy? It’s bloody obvious, innit? Until you ruined the damn system.”

“Sorry I broke your fragile little mind, asshole.” Michael sneers.

“You don’t seem very sorry for fucking with me, _asshole_.” Gavin returns. Usually their dickery is happily mutual but this time it isn’t.

“Maybe because I’m pissed. Why the fuck did you start sleeping with us if you thought we thought we were more important than you?”

What kind of stupid ass question is that? Gavin directs one right back at them, frustrated beyond belief. “Why did you get married if you didn’t know that two was more important than three?”

“She has a ring, you have a creeper necklace. What the fuck did you think that meant?”

Wow. An even _more_ stupid question than the one before. Gavin wouldn’t have thought it possible, and yet... “It was a twenty dollar trinket from a con.”

“Then why didn’t I get one for Ray?”

In the time that they’ve been bickering like old biddies Lindsay has circled around the couch. She’s on Barbara’s ottoman now, a triangle point between himself and Michael. She looks sad. Gavin doesn’t get why, until she starts talking.

“If you want to break up, fine. I mean, not okay, but fine. But don’t say we were never together.”

“I don’t want to stop!” No wonder she looks down, if she’s thinking nonsense. At least this is something he can fix. “I like everything-”

“You said ‘almost’ before. What was missing?”

“What are you on about?”

Michael snarls. “Don’t fuckin’ do that. I will hit you.”

If Gavin’s sure of one thing it’s that Michael’s punches will hurt more than Lindsay’s. She might be a childhood bully, but his boi has bulked the fuck up, wrestling style. If he wants to avoid an apple sized bruise the only thing is to tell the truth, not evade the question. “Just the stuff two people do. But like I said, I get why-”

 

“Your reasons are stupid and false and we don’t play like that. So you want to continue dating but you want to tear down the bullshit wall _you_ constructed between the three of us. Can you even handle that? You flipped when I tried on your shit fifteen minutes ago.”

“Cause you didn’t know what it mean, you mong! Now you do, so if you do it again and know what it means it’ll be different.”

“Come back to the apartment with us,” Lindsay suggests.

Gavin thinks he can. He feels all talked out, that’s for fuckin’ certain. But maybe they’ll just let him get dressed and they’ll all go to work and they can talk about it again later. Or never. If nothing needs to change they don’t need to talk about it.

He’s just swinging the door closed, Michael already by the elevator, Lindsay halfway between them, when he remembers. Gavin opens the painted grey wood just wide enough to stick his head and shoulder in. He shouts “Done. Thanks!” and resumes closing the front door. He’s not the loudest guy at Rooster Teeth. Probably wouldn’t even make the top ten. Still, there’s no way Barbara didn’t hear that. She can now go about her morning, whatever she would have done had they not exiled her. And hopefully she won’t ask too many questions when she sees him at work.

Back in the Jones bedroom Lindsay tugs his cushy towel off in one hard pull. Gavin figures next they’ll give him a little bit of room to gather his things, which came off fairly energetically last night and are kind of strewn across the room. That’s not what happens. Instead Michael underhand tosses him a shirt that when uncrumpled is very obviously Michael’s, despite being the same colour as his own. It’s not even an RT shirt in the wrong size, it’s a shirt advertising a Jersey radio station. 

“Uh.”

“Put it on,” Michael barks. Gavin puts it on. The Jones are making a statement. Great. And it only gets better from there. The next thing he’s given is a pair of Lindsay’s knickers.

“Uhhh.”

“Put it on!”

Gavin rapidly weighs his options. Funnily enough partially crossdressing at work comes out the better option when compared to rejecting their message before they can even state it. The panties are a bit loose but at least it gives room for his twig and berries.

He’s not all that surprised when Michael shoves him onto the bed. The Jones are a rowdy bunch. Wouldn’t be the first time they have a bit of a wrestle before work. Michael’s probably trying to prove everything’s normal. Can’t blame the guy. Things were pretty weird for a tick there.

Gavin waits for Michael to jump onto him. Michael likes going for the ribcage and Gavin is prepared to defend himself at all costs. Even in untested armor and directly post other battle. Instead Michael calmly lays beside him and starts playing with his nipples above his shirt.

“Uh? What are-”

 

“Really? I have to explain what nipples are? How bad was the British sex ed?”

Gavin ignores the smartass snark. Obviously he’s not going to get a straight answer. Fine. He can figure out Michael’s reasoning himself.

Or he can forget his own name when Lindsay gets on the bed on his other side and goes directly for his gooch. Gavin likes being fingered because who doesn’t -besides asexuals and liars- but there’s just something about that outside spot that makes him swallow his tongue. It’s as intense as getting fingered without the need for slimy lube. 

“That always makes you kick your legs up and pant,” Lindsay chuckles a little later, when she stops, the fiend. His internal dialogue is something like _well can you blame me_ , but it comes out as more of a moan. “Do you wanna go all the way? Do you wanna get fucked?”

“Christ yeah.”

Michael’s hand glides down Gavin’s hip until it curls around the outside of his thigh then keeps it there as a brace, which Gavin is pretty sure he’ll soon come to appreciate. He can get squirmy during sex. No different to how jittery he is the rest of the day, really. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone to hold him in place. 

It’s Lindsay who goes for the goods, again. Except she doesn’t pull her own underwear off his junk and down his thighs to do it. She attacks him from the side. With Michael holding him in a stretch there’s room for Lindsay to edge her fingers past the leg hem and press again on his perineum. Gavin’s eyelids flutter erratically and he whines into Michael’s supple body. Fuck getting fucked, he just needs them to never stop touching him.

“Argh, it won’t let me- freakin elastic!” Lindsay mutters. She slips her hand out. Before Gavin can complain about the newfound neglect -he might not be able to manage words but he can moan in several different disappointed tones- Lindsay’s giving it a new attempt. Perfect, resourceful woman.

This time her -his?- panties are stretched to the side, the fabric bunched in the crease of his leg. If the filthy smile is anything to go by, it’s a strategy that makes Lindsay much happier. Not to mention that Gavin is happier because there’s a hand on his knob. His aroused contentness only gets stronger when her fingers move much lower to circle his asshole. 

She’s careful with the lube. Extremely careful. The small part of Gavin’s brain that can still attempt critical thinking has a guess that makes him very happy. From what his highly sensitised skin can tell, the slick gets only exactly where it should be; on the rim of his asshole and up inside him.

Gavin rocks down on her fingers. He has a reason to rock up too. Michael’s playing with the head of his cock, only what shows above the elastic band. Mostly though he cares about riding Lindsay’s gorgeous hand. Jesus Balls, whoever says fingering isn’t the best sex act of them all are out of their ultra hetero, anal-phobic dudebro minds.

As he rockets higher he reaches for something to clench. Somehow that thing becomes Michael’s shirt. The thick cotton crumples into a ball in Gavin’s hand as his hips jackhammer between Lindsay and Michael, and then he’s biting his lip and coming. Michael scrambles to shove his shirt up and grab a kleenex at the same time. A for effort and... actually, A for execution too, Gavin feels barely any of his spunk fall back down on him.

“Who’s up next?” He asks. So what if he’s still breathing heavily? The time it’ll take him to catch his breath and gather the willpower to move can be filled by imagining exactly what he’ll do to whichever Jones calls dibs.

“Nah. We’re good.”

Except if neither Jones wants to call dibs. Not something he saw coming, it has to be said.

“You’re passing up a orgasm? Really?”

“This morning’s about you, boi,” Michael replies.

Lindsay amends her husband’s statement a little. “If I still feel sexually frustrated at lunch, me and you will take a break together.”

Gavin smirks. He’s always up for a good old muff lunch.

“If we’re too late Geoff’s not gonna let us take lunch,” Michael points out. Though it’s more of a mingy little suck-up whine than anything else, really. Michael has this thing about pleasing Geoff that verges on the edge of weird sometimes.

“Bollocks. Like we could possibly be later than Jack.” The Gent lives a late to bed late to rise lifestyle. There’s a reason their Minecraft Lets Plays get filmed in the afternoon these days.

“Just stand up and put some socks on, idiot. We’ll get bagels on the way.”

“Lemme guess. You want me to wear this bloody outfit to work,” Gavin gestures to himself as he stands up. Michael’s shirt and Lindsay’s panties aren’t that much worse for the wear. The t-shirt’s a bit wrinkly from the pre-orgasmic squeeze. The knickers stick to the crack of his ass a little. But he’s worn messier and more uncomfortable on wash day, and if it’s what they want- fuck, if it’s what they _want_...

“Right in one,” Michael shoots a sarcastic finger gun at him.

“I think you’ll find it sweaty, not bloody,” Lindsay interjects.

“Hah freakin hah,” Gavin replies, just barely keeping his cool. Truth is that he’s excited, hanging onto the facade of calm by the skin of his teeth. For the first time ever he’s borrowing something without feeling like a creep, like a lecherous mong. Instead he just feels wanted. Claimed. Even if his coworkers don’t notice, in the office or on the Podcast later, Gavin knows what he’s wearing. Lindsay and Michael know the significance of sharing clothes now, and they not only still want to, they’ve downright insisted. How could he feel anything but amazing?


End file.
